The Look of Love by Mary Jane Clark Page B

faced the repercussions the murder could have on their business and professional reputations. And if Jillian had been devastated by the acid attack inflicted on her maid but meant for her, he could only imagine how she was being affected by the murder.
    It was some small justice for what the Abernathys had done to his life. But not enough.
    “Excuse me.”
    Hudson looked up from the newspaper. Three middle-aged women were standing on the other side of the registration desk. All were carrying cameras and using their sunglasses as headbands.
    “May I help you?” he asked.
    “Can you tell us where Marilyn Monroe’s star is?” asked the tallest of the three.
    “At 6774 Hollywood Boulevard,” Hudson answered without missing a beat. The Hollywood Walk of Fame was a tribute to over two thousand artists who had made a contribution to the film, theater, television, radio, and recording industries. Hudson prided himself on knowing the locations of the stars inlaid in the sidewalk for the most famous.
    “What about Paul Newman?” asked the chubby one. “I loved Paul Newman.”
    “He’s at 7060 Hollywood Boulevard.”
    “Judy Garland?”
    “She’s got two,” said Hudson, growing impatient. “One for recording at 6764 Hollywood and the other for motion pictures at 1715 Vine Street.”
    The third woman leaned on the desk and dutifully wrote down addresses. Hudson could see there was a long list of names. There was no way these hags could expect him to provide the addresses for each star, was there?
    The tall woman’s next request showed that they expected just that.
    “Okay. How about Alfred Hitchcock?” she asked.
    “For pity’s sake, lady!” Hudson yelled. “Get yourself a map!”
    The moment the words were out of his mouth, Hudson knew he’d made a mistake. The women demanded to talk to the manager.
    At the end of his shift, Hudson was fired.

Chapter 30
    A fter breakfast Piper went back to her room to get some sunscreen and her straw hat. The light on the telephone next to her bed was blinking. She called down to the front desk.
    “Do I have any messages?” she asked, hoping that Jack had called.
    “Yes, Miss Donovan. Miss Abernathy would like you to come over to her cottage.”
    “Where is it?” asked Piper.
    “From the main building, go past the pool and take the path to the right. It’s the last one.”
    “Thanks. Any other messages?”
    “No, Miss Donovan. That’s all.”
    T he scent of lavender wafted through the air as Piper walked to Jillian’s cottage. She passed some of the facilities featured in Elysium’s online brochure: the studio where guests could draw, paint, or listen to art-appreciation lectures; the apothecary where guests could create their own custom blends of bath oils and lotions; and the yoga, spinning, and Pilates house, which also included rooms for personal training sessions. The tranquillity and calm were disturbed only by the occasional silent golf cart that passed, carrying passengers dressed in exercise clothes or plush terry-cloth robes—and the men in suits who Piper surmised were police detectives.
    At the end of the long path, cactus, agave, sedum, and other moisture-filled succulents covered the ground in front of a stuccoed, southwestern-style cottage. Piper was about to knock when the wood-and-wrought-iron door opened. Jillian stood there, looking very different from the way she had when Piper met her the day before. The skin around her eyes was swollen, her nose was red, and her smooth complexion was blotchy.
    “I was watching out the window for you, Piper,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
    Piper walked inside and took in her surroundings. While her suite in the main building was all soothing creams and whites, the living room of the cottage was a more colorful mix of sage green, tan, and turquoise. The furniture was rustic. A Native American–inspired rug covered the floor, and metal art pieces decorated the walls. At the side of the room was